


Figuring it Out

by AbigailHT, CanonCannon, GayNinjaBadass (maximumred)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailHT/pseuds/AbigailHT, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumred/pseuds/GayNinjaBadass
Summary: "What happened? Not that I mind having him, he’s a godsend when Hershel cries at night, I'm getting twice as much sleep… but I thought you two were, um, getting along." There's something off about Maggie’s tone in that last sentence, but Paul is too irritated to try to figure it out.He couldn’t quite bring himself to tell Maggie that her brother was a homophobic asshole, though, so he just snapped, "Hell if I know, he won't talk to me about it. Ask him."





	Figuring it Out

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of two short pieces written for an Anon Desus shipper who is undergoing their first round of chemo Thursday. The next will be posted later because I am a slooooow writer and it still needs some work.
> 
> I reached out to some AWESOME Desus fan artists for an extra special surprise to hopefully cheer Anon up a little bit, and holy shit did they come through, despite the fact that I gave them very little time. I'll be adding those as they come in and linking to their tumblrs in the endnotes so you can go follow them and see more amazing art!
> 
> If you have a minute, feel free to leave some best wishes for Anon in the comments. Anon, we're rooting for you <3

It would have been less awkward if Daryl hadn’t walked into the trailer at that exact moment, when Alex was finishing in Paul’s mouth with a hand clutched in his hair to keep him in place.

 _Shit_ , Paul thought, almost choking. He caught a flash of shocked blue-gray eyes and a bright red face before Daryl slammed the door to the trailer without setting a foot inside.

Ignoring Alex’s questions and his own hard-on, Paul dashed to the window in time to see Daryl’s broad shoulders disappear through the gate, crossbow on his back. He’d just returned from a hunt, but apparently he was going right back out again.

They’d been roommates and friends for a couple of months now, spending nearly all their free time together. Paul had never expected it when he first started teasing the redneck, but he and Daryl had a lot in common. He liked the guy, and found himself missing him when he left for a few days on a run or to visit Alexandria.

Only problem was, Paul had picked up some weird vibes whenever he mentioned an old boyfriend or anything about being gay. He doubted that Daryl was seriously homophobic or anything, but there was pretty obviously some lingering discomfort from his upbringing about the whole topic, so Paul kept that part of his life a little quieter than normal when they spent time together.

Nothing quiet about Alex’s moans, though.

 _Shit shit shit_.

—

Daryl didn’t return for two days.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Paul said in an easy, joking tone, praying Daryl wasn’t going to be an asshole about the whole thing. He’d caught sight of Daryl almost as soon as the hunter stumbled through the gate, muddy and dragging a small doe. As usual, there was an assortment of small woodland creatures strung up by his belt as well. “I’m guessing it's not exactly your cup of tea, the whole, uh, gay thing.”

“That some kind of joke?” Daryl asked, quiet yet aggressive, getting in his face.

“Um. No?” The scent of sweat and animal blood filled Paul’s head. He took a step back. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have locked the door, it won’t happen again.”

Daryl held his gaze a couple more moments, then withered, staring at the ground for a full minute.

“Don't gotta apologize. I'll knock next time,” he muttered finally and spun around, heading to the kitchen.

"You don't need to knock, you live there- Daryl, wait-”

—

But from then on, Daryl didn't live in the trailer. He started camping out on a nest of blankets in a corner of Maggie's room.

The sudden, icy distance he put between himself and Paul was so noticeable that everyone, well, _noticed_. They’d been just about joined at the hip in their free time before, and now Paul barely ever caught sight of the other man.

Daryl didn't seem to give a fuck about being so obvious that he was the subject of gossip. He'd walk out of any room Paul entered unless he absolutely had to be there. After leaving food on the table several times in the dining hall, he stopped coming to meals entirely; Paul had no idea when or what he ate. He told himself he didn't care.

Most of the Hilltop residents began steering clear of the grumpy hunter, back to fearing him now that he wasn't constantly accompanied by their friendly scout. Only Daryl's family realized how out of character such a reversal was for him.

It took less than a week for Maggie to decide to meddle.

"What happened? Not that I mind having him, he’s a godsend when Hershel cries at night, I'm getting twice as much sleep… but I thought you two were, um, getting along." There's something off about Maggie’s tone in that last sentence, but Paul is too irritated to try to figure it out.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to tell Maggie that her brother was a homophobic asshole, though, so he just snapped, "Hell if I know, he won't talk to me about it. Ask him." Then he abruptly yanked up the not-quite-full wheelbarrow and walked the load of cabbage to the barn.

He didn't see Maggie looking after him with a pensive expression on her face.

—

She assigned them to go on a run together the next day, not even trying to be subtle about it.

Neither man argued. No one put petty personal shit over the group's wellbeing and they were the community’s best runners.

"Fine," Daryl grunted.

"Fine," Paul agreed, gritting his teeth.

—

When Daryl dug his heels in about something, he really wouldn’t budge.

They didn’t talk in the car. Paul put on his most annoying mix of pop music and Daryl didn’t even complain about it, just clenched his fingers on the steering wheel a little tighter.

They didn’t talk when they parked outside the county jail Maggie had sent them to scope out, either. They’d worked together enough during the war to communicate with glances and hand signals.

All the weapons were gone, but the riot gear was there, closed into a cupboard in a storage room, and Daryl found two canisters of pepper spray that wouldn’t help with walkers but could be useful dealing with strangers on the road. There was also an untouched vending machine in the officers' break room.

“Want some cookies?” Paul offered cautiously, keeping his voice light as he tossed a bunch of sugary snacks into his pack.

“Nah,” Daryl replied, somehow infusing the syllable with enough venom to sting Paul’s feelings and his pride.

“Great. More for me.”

They worked in silence for a few more moments before Paul, disgusted, just had to get out of there.

“You get the rest of this loaded, I’m going to check the last couple rooms.”

“Ain’t safe to split up,” Daryl said, standing to follow.

“Yeah, well, what do you care?” Paul sniped childishly, and slammed the door in Daryl’s face.

—

The first room was nearly empty except for some ratty bedding and old discarded water bottles. Someone had holed up there at some point. The blankets weren’t worth salvaging, so Paul continued to the next room, trying not to think about wringing Daryl’s neck as he picked the lock and stepped silently inside.

It looked like some kind of records room, with stacks and stacks of boxes on high shelves. Opening one at random, Paul was surprised to find a bloody sweater, a knife, and a brick of cocaine. It was some sort of evidence locker—it could be a gold mine for weapons, and maybe some drugs with medicinal uses.

“Daryl! Hey, get in- SHIT!”

Something clawed at his shoulder, yanking him to the floor. He felt his ankle twist, then a sharp pain on his calf.

Despite the pain he kicked out harshly. That took care of the legless roamer that had been dragging itself along the floor beside him. Feeling teeth trying to chew through his jacket, Paul whipped his knife out and plunged it behind him, hearing a disgusting squelch when it hit home in a soft skull.

He tried to stand to take out the last one—please God let that be that last one—and nearly lost his balance on his hurt ankle. It didn’t matter: the third and final roamer dropped a split second later with a bolt in its eye.

Then Daryl was beside him and Paul reached out instinctively, their argument forgotten.

“Told you it was stupid to split- wait, fuck, your- Paul, your leg.”

Right. That stinging on his calf. Paul looked down to see blood seeping through his pants on the left side.

One moment of inattention, one fucking moment—how many times had he seen a single stupid decision end someone, and now it might be him.

“One of the roamers, it was crawling,” he admitted, hating the fear that crept into his voice. He leaned heavily against the shelves beside him, eyes darting around to ensure the room was empty, like he should have done before digging into the boxes.

“Paul.”

Startled, he looked up at Daryl. The man looked _horrified_ , face pale, eyes glued to the growing splash of blood on his pants in stunned terror.

Then he sprang into action, grabbing Paul and yanking him roughly towards the door.

“Daryl, what the hell-”

“Gotta cut it off,” Daryl grunted, practically dragging him with an arm around his waist. His crossbow stabbed awkwardly into Paul’s flank. “When we get in there, get your belt off for a tourniquet. I’ve got an ax in my pack, need to disinfect it-”

“We’re not amputating here, I’ll die.” Paul let himself be dragged along for the moment. Daryl had a wild look in his eye.

“You’ll die if we don’t,” the other man snarled in his face.

“We don’t even know it’s a bite, calm down and think for a minute.”

“Think? Like you were, huh? What the fuck were _you_ thinking, going off on your own, that ain’t how we do things, you fucking arrogant ninja prick,” Daryl was more muttering to himself than talking to Paul by that point. He’d managed to pull them into the break room and dropped to his knees, and before Paul knew it his pants were sliced open from mid-thigh to ankle.

There was a tense moment of silence, and then Daryl’s head fell heavily against his hip. Paul froze at the contact, staring down at the shaggy head pressed against him. He could see the tips of Daryl's ears through his dark hair.

“Ain’t a bite, just some kinda cut.”

They stayed like that for a moment before Paul’s knees went out from under him, the relief and pain hitting him all at once.

Daryl caught him. A moment later they were both on their backs on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, still breathing hard.

Distantly, Paul realized that his favorite pants were ruined. He felt vaguely annoyed about it. "I could have rolled the leg up. We can't just waste clothes.”

“You couldn’t have rolled them up, they’re too tight. Hippie.” Daryl sounded like he was holding back laughter. They laid side by side for another few seconds before Daryl heaved himself up. “Gotta clean that cut, try to brace the ankle. It’s already swelling.”

"We can't wait around here, it's not secure," Paul argued immediately.

"Yeah," Daryl frowned, kneeling beside him. "Nearest safe house we got set up is in Dumfries, right?”

“Yep. We should have enough gas to get there and home again." Paul started trying to get up; Daryl knocked him back down with a firm press on the shoulder.

"Man, can you stay put for once? Christ. Wrap something around that gash, I’ll bring the car around to this exit," he nodded to a door at their right. "Safe house'll have some pain meds, antibiotic spray, maybe a real bandage if we're lucky.”

"Yes, but will it have new pants for me?" Paul asked, trying to make a joke of it. He was giddy with relief, and Daryl was talking to him again--in complete sentences, even.

"Quit your bitching, I'll sew 'em up if it's that important to you." Daryl smirked as he manhandled Paul against the wall to sit up.

"Yeah, no thanks. I've seen your idea of mending clothes, it looks like a clumsy kindergartener did it.”

"Prissy much?" Before Paul could snark back he was walking away, leaving his crossbow behind in case Paul needed it. "Keep your ass on the ground, Rovia, and try not to embarrass yourself again, huh? Don’t wanna tell Hilltop their badass ninja was taken out that easy."

—

The safe house was more decrepit shack than house, really, set back in the woods a ways behind a creepy old mansion. Getting there required driving into the mansion’s four-car garage, hiding the car, then walking a quarter mile through the woods to the old hunting cabin they’d call home for the night.

Even better, it had started to rain on the drive. It was going to be a miserable, cold, damp night.

Paul swore he was fine using a big tree limb as a kind of crutch, but after a few minutes of him limping along in the mud Daryl had grimaced, adjusted his hold on his crossbow, and lifted the smaller man against his will. Paul let out an undignified squawk but he wasn’t stupid enough to struggle–they didn’t both need injuries.

The complete indignity of being carried bridal style in the rain kept him quiet the rest of the walk, and Daryl was too winded to talk.

When they finally reached the fortified, well-hidden base, Daryl bound up his wounds best he could with their limited medical supplies, then tried to intimidate him into sitting still while he started a fire; Paul rolled his eyes and hopped over to pull out some of the MREs their people had hidden in the floorboards when they’d set up the safe house.

They ate without anything meaningful passing between them, just the usual teasing insults and jokes. Paul didn’t want to break the tentative peace between them—and besides that, he was really fucking tired—so instead of trying to force Daryl into a heart to heart, he stretched out on the musty couch and passed out right after dinner.

The heart-to-heart could wait until morning.

—

It could also wait until Daryl had eaten and had a cigarette, because Paul wasn’t a complete moron.

In fact, he waited until they were getting close to Hilltop to bring the whole mess up again.

“So… you want to tell me why you moved out? Or does the silent treatment resume once we’re back home?”

Almost a whole Spice Girls song played quietly in the background before Daryl finally answered, “Didn’t tell me you had a damn boyfriend, for one thing.”

“And if I’d only told you first, everything would have been fine, right?” Paul knew that came out bitter as hell. He steamrolled on anyway. “I thought we were friends. Hell, you had to know I was gay, I didn’t exactly hide it.”

He waited for a reply, but Daryl was just staring at him with a funny look on his face. Finally the redneck swore and looked back at the road ahead. “I’m a fucking moron.”

It sounded like an epiphany, but somehow Paul doubted it was about the equality and humanity of LGBTQ individuals. At least Daryl didn’t look angry anymore.

Instead he looked miserable, like he’d completely deflated.

“Huh?” Paul replied very intelligently.

“Look, I’m… uh.” Daryl scratched his head and began again slowly, like he was thinking about every word. “Aaron–you know, from Alexandria?–he’s with this guy, Eric. Y’know, _with_ with him. And they’re family, same as Maggie and Rick. Same as you.” That last sentence came out strangely choked. “So… sorry I’ve been such a prick, I guess.”

“Thanks, I guess- but then why- I mean, what-”

“Man, we buried the hatchet, can you just forget about it?” the hunter said, eyes on the road. Again, he didn’t sound angry, just flat.

“Sure. I just don’t understand, if you don’t care that I’m gay-”

Apparently what was left of Daryl’s patience snapped. “Fuck’s sake, just give it a fucking rest, Rovia,” he bit out.

Paul gave it a rest. They'd arrived at Hilltop by that point, anyway.

“Well, whatever it was… thanks for helping back there, with the ankle and the roamers and everything, even though you were still pissed at me,” he said lamely as they drove through the gate.

“We take care of each other. It’s what we do,” Daryl replied with a shrug, and steered them towards the barn.

–

In the end Maggie had to spell it out for him.

“Glad you two are back to being friendly. Does this mean I’m getting my room back?” She sat at her desk sketching out plans for a new extension to grow corn on the west side of Hilltop. It was late and Paul was lazing around her office, resting his ankle and reading.

“I don’t think so,” he replied pensively. “He’s talking to me again but he’s still pretty uncomfortable about the whole Alex thing. Said he’d give me some privacy.”

“What Alex thing?”

“That’s why he was pissed at me. He walked in on me and Alex in a, um, private moment.”

Maggie dropped her pen. “That’s why he was so upset. We thought you were- oh, _Daryl_ …”

“What?” Paul said, alarmed, sitting up on his bench. “What’s that face for?”

“You still don’t get it, do you?”

Paul shook his head, feeling oblivious.

“Daryl thought–well, we both thought–that you were flirting with him.”

Paul blinked. “I mean, I guess I was. Only as a joke, I didn’t mean to offend him.”

“Jesus. You’re not hearing me. Daryl thought you were flirting with him, for months. You two were spending all your time together, and he asked me if I thought it meant anything. He asked me how to _flirt back_. And then… and then he walked in on you with Alex.”

Oh.

Oh, _shit_.

–

Daryl hid in the woods for three days after they returned from the aborted run.

For once Paul really didn’t mind. It gave him time to think, to talk to Maggie a little more. Time to write a letter to Alex.

He cornered Daryl the moment he dropped his kills off at the kitchen. It was late, nearly midnight, with an eerie full moon and a clear, starry sky.

“Figured it out?” Daryl grunted, scowling. He was clutching his pack so tight that his knuckles were turning white.

“Nope. Maggie told me.”

“Pft, don’t go believing everything that girl says. She had me acting like a damn fool over you for a month.” If it was supposed to be some kind of joke, it fell flat.

“Daryl, listen-”

“Look, man, I asked once already, can you just let it go? Cause I feel like a jackass already.” Daryl cut himself off, breathing deep. “Sorry I took it serious, all the… the joking. I get it now, you ain’t gotta worry about me getting the wrong idea.”

“Daryl,” Paul said gently, stepping closer. “Just because I thought you were straight, doesn’t mean it was a joke. I wasn’t trying to mock you-”

“I know,” Daryl said, meeting his eyes, and Paul realized it was the first time he’d done so since that debacle with Alex in the trailer. “Didn’t mean it like that, just meant– look, you ain’t done nothing wrong, ain’t your fault I’m a gullible fuck.”

“I’m saying it wasn’t a joke. I _was_ flirting.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it meant something.” Daryl was half turned away, spine curling in shame. “I thought it was some kind of… thing, starting up between us.”

“It could be,” Paul said carefully, hands in his pockets.

Daryl froze, still looking away.

Paul took a step forward. “I’ve thought you were gorgeous since the first time I saw you, you know.”

The hunter didn’t respond, didn’t so much as twitch. Paul could see his eyes in the moonlight but they didn’t give anything away.

“And you’re one of my best friends.” Another step closer.

“The more time we spend together, the more I like you. The more I realize how much we complement each other.” Another step. Daryl still hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’m going to need you to say something,” Paul said, taking another step forward. “Won’t kiss you otherwise.”

That finally got a reaction.

“Alex,” Daryl rasped out, shaking his head slightly.

“Already broke it off.” Paul reached a hand to Daryl’s bicep. “And it was never a relationship, anyway. Just friends blowing off steam.”

When Paul’s hand landed on his skin Daryl sucked in a breath and turned so they stood face to face. He bit his lip, eyes cautious as he registered Paul mere inches away.

Paul, though, had never been the cautious type. Sliding his hand to Daryl’s neck he pulled him in, letting their lips meet briefly.

It was enough. Daryl looked overwhelmed already as he raised a shaky hand to Paul’s cheek.

“Best not be fucking with me,” he whispered. “I’ll kick your ass.”

Paul tamped down the multitude of sexual innuendos that came to mind in response. “As if you could.”

“Bet I could. You almost got taken down by three measly fucking walkers.”

“Shut up.”

“Hell, one of ‘em couldn’t even walk. Two and a half walkers.”

“I said shut the hell up, Dixon, or I’ll make you.”

“Oh yeah?” Daryl asked, voice breathy.

“Yeah,” Paul said with a smirk, and kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK AT THE GORGEOUS ART. LOOK AT IT.
> 
> Incredible work from (in order) abigailht.tumblr.com and gayninjabadass.tumblr.com so far, and I might be adding a couple more soon <3
> 
> Thanks SO much to the artists who helped out with this. Again, to the Anon getting through chemo today, you're in our thoughts. @gayninjabadass put together a card for you, so check out his tumblr when you're feeling up to it.


End file.
